


Quiver

by Atramxntous



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Forced Kissing, Guilt, Lucilles a Bitch, M/M, Negan too, Oral, Pain, Table sex WHO doesn't like that?, Trauma, Whiskey - Freeform, Whump, emotional distress, forced stripping, self blame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atramxntous/pseuds/Atramxntous
Summary: There was a part of him preparing for his very possible impending doom, and just when he was about to pepper Negan with questions about what was in store for him, or where they would go, he was not mentally prepared for this one five-letter word.“Strip.”





	1. You Are My Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little hesitant to post this, because I realized there were a few interpretations of this scene already, but I just can’t help myself. So without further ado, this is my take on 7x07 when Negan takes Carl into that little room.

The room had been so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. The man in charge had asked the younger Grime’s a question, but he didn’t want to respond. _No_ , he sat silently, having no heart or notion to reply. Not after being taunted, and made to feel like a monster in a horror film. The muscle in his chest felt like it was going to explode; he was _whumped_ with emotion, and wanted to scream.  
  
Completely phlegmatic, Negan broke through the wall of stillness in the room. “I want you to sing me a song.” He stated, and confusion had washed over Carl’s visage; the only word his mind could latch onto was, “––What?”  
  
The _absurdity_. This had to be some level of joke, because it was already evident that Negan enjoyed pulling legs. “Yeah, you mowed down two of my men with a machine gun, I want something in return for that. _Sing_ me a song.”  
  
“I…I…I can’t think of anything.”  
  
“Bullshit!” Negan vociferates, and slowly rises from his spot on the couch. At the lick of his lips, he adjusts his tone, so that it’s steady again, and it’s every bit as intimidating as he _knows_ it is. “What’d your mom use to sing to you? What’s your dad play in the car?” At this point, Lucille is pointed at the guest in question, and Negan proceeds with, “ _Start_ singing.”  
  
“Okay, okay, okay, uh…” Carl began to tremble; apprehension was starting to consume whatever bravado he was holding onto. He racked his mind for a song, and then reluctantly, as one came to light, sang. “You are my sunshine….”  
  
“Go on…” Negan urged as he started to pace the room, stopping only to give Lucille a good practice swing. Witch concern, Carl flinched, in fear of being struck by the flying lumber.  
  
But Negan had paused then, only to offer Carl a reprimanding look, “Go on, do _not_ let me distract you, young man.” He instructs, while taking yet another swing.  
  
Voice shaken, it took everything in Carl just to finish the damn nursery rhyme. The perturbation left him feeling weary, and prickly with sensation. “That’s pretty good. Lucille loves being sung to.” Negan says. “It’s about the only thing she loves more than bashing in brains.” Slowly Negan takes a seat on the coffee table, so he’s good and close to Carl. “Did your mother sing that to you? Where is she now?”  
  
Again Carl is whumped with emotion, this time upon being asked such a _personal_ question, and he doesn’t want to go down this road. Not with Negan. He shakes his head, overwhelmed, and he shrinks back unresponsive.  
  
“Damn. Dead huh? You see it happen?”  
  
“I shot her… before it could…”  
  
Negan grins, appearing completely complacent, and whatever feigned sympathy the man could have offered was washed away when he leaned in, and opened his big mouth. “Damn. No wonder you’re a little serial killer in the making.”  
  
Ruminating, he eyed Carl up and down, mind digging up a ludicrous proposal, and he gets up only to reclaim his spot back on the couch across from his guest. “Alright,” He starts, “Come on, I’ve made up my mind. Stand up.”  
  
In silent acquiescence, Carl stands, although he swore standing had never felt so difficult in all his life. His legs felt heavy, and a little bit like static. The way Negan is staring at him right now is thoroughly nettlesome, and the stretch of silence is back again. It was unbelievably deafening, causing Carl to shift uncomfortably.  
  
There was a part of him preparing for his very possible impending doom, and just when he was about to pepper Negan with questions about what was in store for him, or where they would go, he was not mentally prepared for this one five-letter word.  
  
“ _Strip_.”  
  
Mouth agape, and in all respects dumbfounded, Carl’s mind froze over in revulsion. It’s like his body was unsure how to move, his feet felt glued to the floor. That didn’t make any sense. This didn’t make a lick of sense. Why would Negan ask him to do such a senseless thing?  
  
“You might be missing an eye, but I can still see that you’ve got ears. So, I believe, that you heard me, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes, but why are you––?“  
  
Laughing, Negan raised his hand up to hush the other. “What _is_ it that you aren’t apparently getting here, kid? I think I’ve been pretty lenient, and forbearing with you so far.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“You want to challenge me, go ahead, kid, _spurn_ me! **BUT** , let me spell it out for you. Your punishment is far from finished. I have yet to be satisfied, so I suggest you be a good boy, and do what you’re told.” He spouted. “So what’ll it be?”  
  
When Carl doesn’t appear to move, something about that really irks Negan, and he abruptly lifts his bat, and smacks it as hard as he can against the floor, only worsening the already odious atmosphere.  
  
“Make a choice!” Negan roars, and Carl’s heart is beating like a massive drum, every fiber of his being wishing he could just run. And then just as quickly as the rage appeared, it vanished without a trace. A roguish smile spreads across the man’s face, and he playfully bites at his lower lip. “I didn’t mean to snap.” He says, “Look, I’ll forget your impertinence; it never happened! So let’s start this over, shall we? _Strip_.”  
  
Carl does, following order, he removes his clothing, starting with his shirt, and ending with his pants until he’s standing in nothing but his briefs. He feels absolutely ridiculous, and the air is chilly in the room, making him want to scratch at the risen gooseflesh covering his arms.  
  
This _wasn’t_ happening.  
  
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” With one finger, Negan beckoned Carl over. “Now, now, _now_ , look at **you**. Not half bad.” He professed. “There’s something really charming about you. Even for me, I have to admit, you’re really good looking.”  
  
Tongue-tied, Carl looks away, and when he feels something draw near his leg, he sidesteps away from it. Negan couldn’t berate him for it; instead he titters and instructs Carl to make like a tree. Lucille is lifted once more, and feather touch’s Carl’s skin.  
  
The contact of a wire snagging at his flesh as she glides down his thigh makes Carl hiss, but he doesn’t bother to inspect the blood that pools up from the scratch. It’s awful; nauseating, the memory of that hunk of lumber having killed his friends occupies his mind, making him shudder in disgust.  
  
Lord, it was _touching_ him.  
  
“You’re breaking my heart.“ Negan says, regarding the tears that were visibly gliding down Carl’s cheeks. “You’re also hurting Lucille’s feelings. She’s not so bad once you get to know her, and you may not believe it, but I’m not that bad of a guy either.”  
  
“You know, I have an inkling that you like it a little rough. Am I right? Did I hit the ball park?” The man asked, as he runs a hand through his hair, and for a moment, Carl offers a heavy hearted sigh, before responding with, “I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“Strike two on the, Bullshit o’meter!” Negan remarked, chuckling as he leans in. “Or are you telling me you’re a virgin? I mean, come _on_ , what are you? Eighteen?”  
  
“S-seventeen.”  
  
“You’re serious? No fuckin’ way! You? Mr. Blow hard Badass here, has never once been laid?” Negan is rolling with laughter now, and Carl is more than a little uncomfortable. There wasn’t a word strong enough to express the sheer embarrassment he was engulfed in.  
  
“A hardcore broozer like _you_ , gun slinging through rotting flesh, and assholes like me. Suffering loss, and hardships, but never having _once_ \- the pleasure of a hot dicking through any of your travels? That must suck _unbelievably_ hard.” Clicking his tongue, Negan shook his head in astonishment.  
  
“Jesus Fucking Christ, kid, tell me you’ve at least played backstroke roulette?” He asked, and then whistles when it’s clear Carl doesn’t have a clue what he’s implying.  
  
“Devil’s handshake? Fist your mister? I’m asking if you’ve ever masturbated?”  
  
Carl shakes his head, because of course he hadn’t. When would he have found the time or privacy during this whole zombie apocalypse to feel comfortable or safe enough to pleasure himself?  
  
“You are breaking my balls. I actually feel _sorry_ for you, I mean, you’re a growing boy! These are experiences you **should** be having!” Leaning back into the couch, Negan appears completely euphoric, like he’d just won the lottery. “Damn, you are the gift that just keeps on giving. You know that don’t you?”  
  
Carl doesn’t answer, and Negan just rolls his shoulders, tittering. “We have to make this right.” The man says, patting his lap. “Straddle me.”  
  
“No, I...”  
  
“Straddle me.”  
  
“Please…”  
  
“Buddy… _straddle_ me.”  
  
The young Grime’s wiped the wetness away from his face, swallowing hard as he tried to find what was left of his ever so fleeting fight or flight. What did he have? What could he _do_? Something inside him broke, and his lip quivered. It was hitting him now –– how _stupid_ he was to try and take out this man on his own.  
  
**God** , the man before him was _Negan_. This man was the epiphany of power and control. People _followed_ him, they _feared_ him, they _respected_ him, and if no one followed order, there was either a display of severe punishment, or a front row seat to a public execution.  
  
There was no room for refusal, if he was going to make it out of this place in one piece, he needed to follow along with whatever Negan wanted. He _had_ to.  
  
With his breath caught somewhere in his lungs, the threat of rising panic was swallowed down as he advanced, and made the motion into Negan’s lap. The man underneath him couldn’t have looked more serene, and everything about it made Carl want to bellow.  
  
“Good boy.” Negan praised, and with a loud _CLANK_ ; Carl flinched as Lucille was dropped without warning. Two gloved hands possessively grabbed his hips, rubbing small tentative circles that the youth wasn’t momentarily sure how to feel about – only that he was supposed to hate it.  
  
Everything about this was awkward, and the attempt Carl made to avoid eye contact was a fail when his hair was suddenly brushed behind his ear to reveal his scars. His chest felt tight, and he shuddered when Negan bucked his hips up.  
  
“Like I said, that eye is not a winner with the ladies.” Negan expressed, “But I’m no lady, and as far as I’m concerned, nor are you.” There was a pause, and then Negan sniggered. “Then again, that’s debatable. You could easily pass off as one of my wives. Bet you’d look real good in a nightgown. What do you think?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous…”  
  
“What? Can’t take a joke?”  
  
“Just… just, tell me why you’re doing this? Why do you want this?” Carl begged, and groaned when the man grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled. It shouldn’t have felt good, but it did.  
  
“Curiosity is the engine of achievement. Let’s place those keys in the ignition by giving good Ol’ Negan a kiss, huh?”  
  
In response, Carl’s face went fully flush. “Are you joking?” He asked, although it was clear as the light shining through the window nearby, that the man was daringly serious.  
  
“What do you think? We’ve come this far haven’t we? Come on! I’m being conscientious here! I’m letting you unsheathe all that pent up sexual frustration that has to be hiding in there somewhere. You should be _thanking_ me. So, come on, badass, give me your best shot.”  
  
Something about the way Negan said it almost felt like a challenge, so that’s exactly what Carl pretended it was. Without hesitation, the youth leaned forward, and placed a kiss just to the side of Negan’s mouth. The stubble he discovered there tickled him, and an indescribable, itchy phantom sensation stuck to his lips even as he pulled away as quickly as he could, hoping that was enough.  
  
“What was _that_? I’m not asking for a bedtime kiss, kid. _Oh_ , but I bet you’d **love** to call me daddy though. Wouldn’t you?” Negan teased. “Come on, how about you try that again? Put some feeling into it.”  
  
Ignoring the ire resting inside him, as ordered, Carl proceeds, pressing his lips to Negan’s; nothing aggressive at first, but just feeling out the shape of his mouth. It’s only when he feels that he’s become familiar, he slowly quickens with an unspoken hunger the younger Grime’s didn’t know he had.  
  
The man was clearly letting Carl run his own pace, but his patience must have grown thin as he started to dominate. Negan’s hands smoothed up Carl’s back, and all the way back down to the curve of his ass, _squeezing_.  
  
And when Negan parted Carl’s mouth with his tongue to explore the caverns, Carl made an embarrassing noise he wished he hadn’t. _God_ , the man faintly tasted of cigarettes, and what was clearly just Negan himself. If it was possible to place a bullet in his own brain right now, the younger Grime’s would have, because shamefully his body started to react pervertedly on it’s own.  
  
But what struck him odd, and made matters worse, wasn’t the fact he was snogging with this monstrous man. It was how irrefutably pleasing Negan actually smelled. Ignoring the light aroma of nicotine, the man was _clean_ ; from his leather Jacket, to his natural pungent sweet scent.  
  
When they separated, there was a Cheshire cat smile plastered on Negan’s visage, seemingly amused with the tent present in his guest’s briefs. “Good boy.” He praised again, and lifted a hand, brushing over one of the youth’s nipples. When Carl sucked in his breath over the odd sensation, Negan repeated the action, again, and again.  
  
“Ho-oo-ly shit, I’m getting hard.” Negan diverged, “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to be, but _fuck_!” Again, he bucked his hips up, this time hard enough that Carl had to steady himself using Negan’s shoulders. That earned the youth a hand curled around his scrawny neck, where it lightly squeezed with an unspoken promise of what was to come.  
  
“You _belong_ to me.”  
  
Like a blade to his gut, those worse sunk in. Closing his eye, the younger Grime’s tried to shut the world out, but the moment he felt that palm move away from his scrag, and cup his junk, he was conceded over how horrified he was.  
  
In spite _everything_ up to this point… his curiosity was getting the better of him. Self-consciously his body was aching to be touched. In all his life, he’d never felt so _guilty_.  
  
The feeling plagued him like a deadly disease, and he felt sick with apprehension. So of course he tried to plead for _this_ to stop, but when Negan’s hand slipped into his briefs, and started to stroke him, right or wrong didn’t exist anymore. The idea had shattered into a thousand pieces.  
  
The motions were medium paced, and every bit of it was rough and ungraceful. But it was enough. There were a string of sounds trilling out of Carl, and it was apparent by Negan’s further praise, that he’d found it pleasing.  
  
This was impossible, how was Carl going to convince himself that he didn’t like what was happening, when his body was so clearly betraying him? His forehead found Negan’s shoulder, and he inhaled the leather of the man’s jacket, trying to level his mind. Minutes felt like hours, and the younger Grime’s was a hot mess.  
  
Negan stroked Carl through his release, and appeared completely composed in comparison to the shaken guest in his lap. “Damn, you spurt like a god-damned fucking sprinkler!” He indicated, “There is not one part of you, that can tell me you _didn’t_ like that.”  
  
Quickly the man in charge maneuvered them; Carl lying down on the couch, and Negan towering over him as he slowly removed his gloves.  
  
The sound of the Savior Leader undoing his belt, and unzipping his pants went ignored, as Carl looked up at the ceiling, trying to find some composure. When he turned his gaze back to Negan, he shivered over how focused the man looked.  
  
Without another word, Negan slipped Carl’s briefs off, and dropped them, not giving a damn to pay attention where they landed. And reaching into the back cushion of the couch, the man pulled out a vile full or clear liquid. Popping the top off, he started to pour some out onto his fingers.  
  
“You’d be surprised over how hard this stuff is to find. Lucky you I have some, because as much as you hate my goddamn guts, I want to make this experience good for you. You should be thanking me.”  
  
Carl is shaking his head again, and he held his breath when Negan’s wet hand motioned between Carl’s legs. There’s a digit tracing at his entrance, and it’s _so_ weird.  
  
“Here we go...” Negan says, and without any further warning, pushed his finger in all the way up to the knuckle, before fucking him.  
  
The sudden intrusion was incredibly odd, and nothing like Carl had ever felt before. He licked at his lips, and wished his face wasn’t so red, because he knows it is. And Negan is working him enough to slide in another finger, and that only made things worse.  
  
Carl bit his lip so hard that it bled, and when Negan’s fingers curled inside him, he moaned, and swiftly placed a hand over his face to hide himself because he _so_ did not just do that. _Lord_ if his father saw him like this, he’d have a heart attack. No one could _ever_ know. They **couldn’t**.  
  
“You look good like this, with my fingers inside you.” And Carl doesn’t have a response for that, because it sounds like a compliment, and it shouldn’t be one, because it was just so disgusting – but when Negan’s digits scrape over his prostate, he couldn't care less as he cries out.  
  
It was out of this world. Carl felt a rippling bolt of pleasure, and his whole body shook through it. Negan wasn’t saying anything, no sarcasm, no jokes, _nothing_. He was just making small hushed sounds, and Carl couldn’t believe it – didn’t want to.  
  
The moment a third finger breached him, Carl came again, and he’d managed to muffle the sounds that threatened to crawl out of his mouth, except Negan quickly tore Carl’s hand away from his face just so he could hear them. The world around him was warm, and he just felt so lax and weightless.  
  
Those rough fingers buried so deep inside him, slid out, and Negan hadn't given Carl time to rest at all. _No_ , the man lifted the younger Grim’s legs, resting each ankle against each shoulder, and shifted so that his cock was in place.  
  
“Daddy Negan can’t wait anymore.” Negan said abruptly, voice thick and rusty, but Carl’s brows knitted together, trying to understand the **want**  in the man’s voice. And he wasn’t sure what to expect, but when Negan pushed forward, he hissed at the foreign stretch, and cried out when he was suddenly filled fast.  
  
The man’s hips were resting against his ass, and there was a small throbbing pain, that beat to the rhythm of his heart. “Fu-uuuck…” Negan breathed, and rolled his head back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”  
  
Although he’d stuttered, Carl somehow managed a reply. “I hope.” And when Negan realized the intent behind those words, he looked down at his guest, grinning.    
  
Slowly the man slid back, and then started a slow, unsteady tempo. At some point he drops Carl’s legs, and moves up over the youth, so that both hands are bracketing him in. This way, he’s getting a better look at the one underneath him, and it’s every bit of embarrassing as Carl feels it is. He wishes the world would just swallow him up. And it's awful that it doesn't, because it should.   
  
But the pain is no longer there, and he closes his eye listening the sound of skin slapping against skin. The pleasure is a slow build, his breathing is ragged, and for a moment he berates himself for wanting to touch his own dick, because he’s so hard again, but he can’t do anything about it. He’s so _frustrated_ , and Negan’s cock is fucking him, and it feels so unbelievably good.  
  
But it starts to become too much; especially when Negan finds those bundles of nerves. Carl is making so much noise, and he can’t take it, one hand is flexing before reaching up, and grabbing the top of the cushion, the other pushes firmly against Negan’s abdomen. “I can’t… it’s…it’s…”  
  
And just then, Negan stopped, lips upturned, and Carl swore the man was looking straight into his soul. “It’s _what_? Come on, do you really want me to stop? Look at you, kid, look how _undone_ you are.” Slow as molasses, he’s rocking back and forth again.  
  
So, what was air? Carl couldn’t catch his breath, and he lifted his head, smacking it back down against the cushion of the couch; the words wouldn’t come, he didn’t want to admit it. _Couldn’t_. But Negan was going far too slow now, and it was bad. There was so much Carl wanted in this moment, and he didn't want to  _say_ it.   
  
“I know this is hard for you, but look, you want me to continue? You’re _going_ to have to tell me that you **want** it.” Negan said, and he’s biting his lip in anticipation, because he knows, he fucking knows. He can see right through Carl, can’t he? And the guilt takes another blow to youth’s stomach.  
  
But turning his head away so he can only see the cushions of the couch, he shamefully nods in acceptance, before offering the weakest response. “… _I want it_ …” And Negan doesn’t spare a moment to pull back, and thrust back in. This time, he’s rough, and fucking him with earnest.  
  
Oh god, Carl Grime’s no longer existed. It was apparent that he was just a conscious-less being now, who liked being fucked by murderous men; or in this case, one _man_. Negan. He hated himself. And Negan was far too immersed in his pleasure to give a damn. But why would he?  
  
When Negan’s hips stop flush against his ass again, Carl can feel a thick heat inside of him. And Negan pulls out, leaning back into the arm of the couch, catching his own breath.  
  
“God damn, it’s too bad that I don’t have a camera,” Negan says, snapping Carl out of whatever trance he was just in. “Because shit, you are just something else right now.”

The man reaches forward, and grabs Carl’s ankle, giving it a light squeeze. And Carl is still hard, although it’s fading, but when the man legs go of his ankle and slides his hand all the way up to his thigh where Lucille left a scratch, he instructs Carl to finish himself off, because he wanted to see.  
  
It takes a minute for the younger Grime's to register that, but he inhales a shaky breath, and takes himself in hand, almost relieved. It doesn’t last long of course, not after all that's happened, only a few strokes before he’s coming, and Negan is laughing again, but there’s nothing beastly about it. Carl didn’t even mind at this point.  
  
Exhaustion racked him, and Negan was saying something but he couldn’t hear it as the cloud of sleep found him. Maybe when he woke up, he’d be home in Alexandria? Maybe he’d forget how good this felt? Maybe he’d convince himself that it was all just one big bad dream?  
  
He could only hope.


	2. Touching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments I received on the last chapter were so wonderful, thank you all. I originally had no plans to make more, but here we are. Word of warning though – every time I write a story, I feel that my style changes a bit. SO – I'm not sure how well my characterization will be, but in any case, hope the chapter is alright. Peace!

The cold wrapped around him like a predatory blanket, as the sky wept a tirade; precipitation pounded hard on everything it touched as thunder danced across the grey firmament. Respiring deeply, the younger Grimes was soaked, and a small step away from being indisposed. Adjusting his spot on the stoop of his home, the knife he held firm in his hands felt like ice against his already chilly palms; fingertips were numb but there was no chance at warming them.  
  
Several days had passed since his _private_ meeting with Negan at the Saviors compound, and it left him awash with wretchedness. Not to mention irascible; so much that everyone walked eggshells around him since his return.  
  
Carl was trying to avoid his father as much as possible. He was the only one who wouldn’t stop peppering him with questions over what happened between Negan and himself; but he continues to assure his father that _nothing_ had happened. Only something _did_ , and the lie just blisters away at his soul.  
  
It won’t stay hidden forever. Apart of him shortly came to terms with that – knows it, but he has to try.  
  
Times were growing harder, and his brain was too overloaded. Eugene being taken hostage, and the death over Olivia, and Spencer weighted heavy on his mind. For everything that betided, Carl blamed himself.  
  
When a voice startled Carl out of his thoughts, he looked over his shoulder to see Michonne standing in the doorway of their home.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said, rather cliché, don’t you think?” She stepped out, and extended her hand facing palm up to catch the droplets of rain. “ _You_ , out here in this weather, like you haven’t a friend in the world.”  
  
Carl shrugged apathetically, and void of emotion, stared ahead, as he continued to fiddle with the grip of his knife.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry if my sudden emergence has inconvenienced your forlorn theatrical ambiance, but _Carl_ – “ Michonne offered, and he could feel her offering him a mothering look, and it was everything he didn’t want right now.  
  
“It’s _cold_ , it’s _wet_ , and you’ll catch your death. Come inside, _please_?”  
  
Not wanting to argue with her, the youth found his feet, and lead footed his way to the door, but Michonne blocked the entrance.  
  
“I have something to say first.” She says. “I know things aren’t looking the brightest for us right now. They haven’t been for some time.”  
  
She pauses for a moment to cross her arms, and Michonne just looks farther away than comfort should allow. “I know there’s a lot going on in that head of yours, and we’re trying to be patient with you, so _please_ be patient with us.”  
  
Carl’s chest heaved on a sigh, and he nodded, “Yeah, sure.” Although he’s not sure how much forbearance he can muster – all things considered. And as they both made their way inside, there was a rise in tension. Rick was there, clearly in a lather. Earlier they’d had an argument, and feeling short fused, Carl just didn’t have the patience to hear anymore of his father’s admonishment.  
  
“Carl.” Rick said his son’s name so firmly, that the youth’s brows knit together because it reminded him of the way his father use to talk to him when he was younger, and he didn’t like it. So the younger Grimes tried to pass his father by without a word, and that earned Carl a grab at the wrist, and a shout for his attention. Carl’s aggravation burst at the seams, and he wrenched his arm back. “ _What_!?”

The intensity in his razor sharp glare was enough to perplex his father, and he stared at Carl like he was a stranger. “I’m at a loss, we can’t keep doing this.” Rick says, throwing his hands up in the air, and Michonne is nearby, and the disappointment in her eyes infects Carl with a deep sense of remorse.  
  
“ _Try_.” She mouthed to him, and he dropped his shoulders in surrender, and watched attentively as Rick placed both hands on his hips in order to decompress his own roaring frustration.  
  
“You use to talk to me.” He says incredulously, and Carl could have growled in response to that – would have loved too, but settled for something less threatening.  
  
“Yeah, well, there’s _nothing_ to talk about.” Carl delivers, and watches the way his father pinches the bridge of his nose.  
  
It was clear Rick knew better, but he aimed for a softer approach as he changed the subject. “Look, I’m going to go scavenging in a while with Aaron. I only wanted to ask you if you wanted to come along. Maybe getting out will help relieve some of the pressure here?”  
  
It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it – but something about gathering things for the Saviors put a bad taste in his mouth. He was sure it was like that for everyone in involved, but he had to decline. “No, just… when are we going to fight? Dad, we’ve got Daryl back, we’ve got the Hilltop – ”  
  
“Not yet.” Rick said, “Alexandria and the Hilltop together aren’t enough. We need more people. Maggie, and Jesus are working on that. So for now, we have to play the game.”  
  
“Play the game?” Carl shook his head, and felt a pang of anger surge through him like a title wave, and he struggled to pipe it down. “We’ve _been_ playing the **game**! We’ve been playing the game since day one when all of this started.”  
  
“And we have to keep playing if we want to survive!” The former sheriff had to stop them both. Slowly, he raised a hand in silent permission – he needed a moment to calm the mood. “It’s only a matter of time Carl. It’s only a matter of time. We’ll make it.”  
  
There’s a part of Carl that believes that – it’s a feeling that resonates within him, but he just shrinks back, pervaded by the smallest flashes of doubt. “Forget it, I’m going to go check on Judith.”  
  
“Alright” Rick says in defeat, his voice is exasperated, and he sounds tired. Probably from not getting enough sleep. “But get changed first, you’re dripping everywhere – and don’t forget to wipe up your trail!”  
  
Rick turns to Michonne; “I’ll see you when I get back.” And leans in to kiss her.  
  
•  
  
At full tilt, the younger Grimes had changed into a clean pair of clothes, and headed to the nursery. Entering her room, she was already standing at the corner of the crib, reaching for him as she started to cry.  
  
When he picked her up, he bounced her lightly at his hip, making small hushed sounds to try and lull her. “It’s okay, I got you.” Carl says gently, “I got you.” Kissing her head, he thought about the big battle to come. If they could just take out the Saviors, then maybe they’d have a chance at peace for once in their lives.  
  
More importantly, maybe Judith would have that chance.

She didn’t deserve to have the kind of childhood that beset his youth. It’s like they could never catch a break – and he was scared. They’d lost Judith once, and he didn’t want to lose her again. This was his sister – and the last gift his mother left for them.  
  
“Let’s get you set up.”  
  
Carl set Judith on the floor with some toys, and sat cross-legged against the wall to watch her. Every few seconds she would offer him something, only to snatch it away when he tried to take them. “You’re going to be a bully, aren’t you?” He asked her.  
  
“Knock, knock.”  
  
Looking over, Carl’s impassive expression shifts into a grin as he pats the empty space next to him. Enid quietly entered the room, and takes the offer. “So what’s going on here?’ She asked, as she lowered herself to the floor.  
  
“Well, Judith is currently taunting me with her lack of sharing skills.” Carl supplies with a tight-lipped smile, “And she doesn’t care how it’s breaking my heart at all, but that’s okay – whatever makes her happy.”  
  
Enid laughed, and whatever happiness she’d briefly latched onto, dimmed out like a flame at the end of a candlestick. “Do you think about it?” She asked, keeping eyes on the small child in front of them.  
  
“Think about what?” And of course Carl had an idea as to what she was inquiring, but he preferred to play dumb on the subject, because he wasn’t too keen on talking about it just yet. Before Carl flunked his mission– Enid and the younger Grimes had shared a moment out in the woods. They kissed; no more than what he could describe as a peck on the lips in comparison to what he and Negan shared – _**But**_ it was blissfully wonderful, and he had no right to think about it.  
  
He just _couldn’t_ face Enid anymore. It wasn’t right.  
  
“It’s just that… you haven’t really looked at me much since the Hilltop.” She expressed, “Was that like, a going away present? I really didn’t think you were coming back, y’know? Or was it… real?”  
  
Carl didn’t know what to say, and watched his little sister try and stack some small wooden blocks. The way she’s stacking them isn’t right, and they’re going to fall over. When they do, he smiles because she doesn’t cry, just giggles to herself before restacking them. She was going to be such a strong young woman, just like their mother.  
  
“I don’t know.” Carl tried to think, because he’s not even sure anymore. It was possible it could have been one of those ‘in the heat of the moment’ bits, and if that were true, that would only be another thing to add to his grotto of guilt.  
  
“It was real _then_.” He says, and a hand gently touched his cheek.  
  
Enid turned his attention on her; her eyes are searching for something, and he doesn’t know what she’s looking for exactly, but she looks absolutely downhearted. “Are you okay?” Enid asks, and her hand falls away from his face.  
  
Carl tipped his head back against the wall and made a small tut sound. “God, you sound like my dad.“ He opined. “I’m just glad Michonne isn’t pushing because I think I’d lose my mind if she did.” And then after a pause, he sighs. “It just doesn’t matter.”  
  
“It _does_ matter.” Enid glared at him, and he ignored it, just rubbed at the space on his thigh where Lucille had left her mark – he could feel the residual burn of it. It would probably leave a scar. Thankfully it would probably be so dull that he wouldn’t notice it unless he tried to look for it.  
  
“But it doesn’t.” Carl said. “I just – right now I wish life was like a landline, you know? I just want to disconnect and be alone, and it’s like no one will let me breathe.”  
  
“And yeah, I think that’s a luxury we all don’t get much of anymore, but I just feel – it’s amazing how much one person can feel in a day. There’s this giant spectrum of hurt, and it’s suffocating.” He explains, although he’s not sure how much sense he’s making, because at this point he’s just vomiting his emotions everywhere.  
  
“I’ve had a lot of heavy thoughts since Negan brought me back, and I’m seeing that the world is a lot colder than I already knew it was.”  
  
There’s a tear running down Enid’s cheek, and she wipes it away. Her hand cupped his own, and she didn’t say anything for the longest time. “Carl, _what_ happened?” And he doesn’t want that gentleness in her tone – wants to rub it away or scratch it out of his ears.  
  
Carl shook his head. “Whether something did or not, it’s not – it wouldn’t change anything.”  
  
“What about us?” She asked, “There was something there, and now there’s not?”  
  
“There never was an _us_ to begin with.”  
  
Enid looked like she’d just been struck. Slowly, she let go of his hand, and he felt whumped over how stupid he was – because there he went and said the wrong thing.  
  
“Look I’m sorry. I just don’t… “ He wished he was better at these things, especially right now, because the weight resting inside him is just too heavy for him to deal with. “There’s nothing I can give you. I wish I could, but I’m empty.”  
  
Enid’s expression shifted, she looked utterly wrecked. “A lot of us are Carl, you’re not the only one.” Rising steadily, she left the nursery without another word, and Carl places his head in his hands, because he’s just too exhausted.  
  
But when Judith crawls towards him, he takes a deep breath, and gathers her up in his arms. “Don’t be a heart breaker, Judith.” He tells her. “It only makes you feel bad.”  
  
•  
  
When the night is over, and the next day comes; the sun rises high over the horizon, and things aren’t much better. Rosita hollers from the watchtower, and everyone’s heart sank like pebbles to the bottom of a river.  
  
The gates to Alexandria are opening slowly, and Rick stands unassertively, as he welcomes their undesired guests who’ve arrived to collect their newest pickings.  
  
Birds flap hard at Carl’s insides as he observes from a short distance, because he’s not ready to face Negan so soon since their last encounter. The air is raw, and his skin feels suddenly dry.  
  
When Negan jumps out of one of the trucks, he’s got that unnerving, and unrelenting grin painted across his countenance that he donned so well.  
  
“Rise and shine, you sorry shits! And give your Savior that good ol’ glory, glory, _glory_!” Negan shouts, and gives his bat a playful swing. Rick is glowering, and through gritted teeth tells the man in leather that he’s back too soon, because they haven’t gathered much, and they need more time.  
  
Negan feigns a look of mock affront. “Well excuse the **_fuck_** out of me, Rick.” He says, and then simpers, looking far too pleased with himself than any person should look. “I came to check on progress – you’ve had several days to root around.” Negan contends. “And with how _deep_ of a hole I warned you were in, I guess I assumed you’d work a hell of a lot harder to get me shit. What have you been doing? Playing games?”  
  
“We’ve been burying our own and grieving you heartless beast!” Rosita yelled, and Gabriel is there to hold her back.  
  
There’s a slight swaying dance in Negan’s step as he neared, and Lucille rested against his shoulder like a prize. The man licks at his lips, and nods once in acceptance. “Alright, I’ll give you that. I can understand that, **sure** , but _you_ –“ Clicking his tongue he stops in front of Rick, offering him a reprimanding look. “I’m very disappointed in you.”  
  
“You see – while your people were in here _boo hooing_ over their losses –“ Negan says, and everyone could just rip the man in half about now. “You being the mighty big balled leader, should have been out hunting for me in order to make up for what happened during my last visit.”  
  
“So, even if you don’t have much Rick, and it’s _every_ bit as pathetic as you **are** – don’t just stand there like an idiot with your _balls_ tied up in a knot. I’m here whether you like it or not. So, deliver the goods!”  
  
Carl watches as is father reluctantly pulls away to follow order, and it’s disgusting how serene Negan looks. _God_ , the expectation to hand over their scavenging’s so soon pervaded Carl with indignation.  
  
Everything about this was just unfair.  
  
And when Carl realized that Negan locked eyes on him, he unconsciously rubbed his thumb over his middle phalanx to ease away his flourishing discomfort.There was no way he could stay, not now – so he headed home, because he so desperately did not want to be here, and there was no rule _stating_ he had to be present.  
  
When he made it to his room, he grabbed the darts resting in the wall, and tried to get his mind off Alexandria’s intolerable company. Mentally he had to cross his fingers that they’d be gone soon. But after about fifteen minutes of throwing, he felt two possessive hands grab him by the hips. Carl dropped the darts, and felt the muscle in his chest thump hard against his ribcage.  
  
Those warm gloved hands slip up underneath the younger Grimes shirt, and glide over his skin. When they move across his navel, the youth shudders.“So _what_ , I’m chop liver now?” Negan questions, and his voice is thick, and every bit as intimidating as it had been the last time they were alone. “I don’t even get a kiss hello?”  
  
Carl chances turning around, and from what he could tell Negan was by himself which was odd, but he didn’t stew too hard on it. Not when his miff is itching away at the false sense of composure he’d been trying to stitch together.  
  
“What, got nothing to say? Haven’t seen you in days – didn’t you miss me?” Negan is beaming, and Carl can’t take anymore of it, so he replies as curt as possible, “You just like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”  
  
“ _O—ooo–oh_ , mama! Feisty this morning, aren’t we?” Negan sneers, and impishly leans in. “Who spit in your cornflakes? I know it wasn’t me.”  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
The mischievous grin on the leader of the Savior’s visage clearly cannot be contained, and he laughs, although there’s no humor in the dry.

“Well, since you asked so **nicely** , I have to know.” The man in leather adjusts his stance, finger pointing. “Did you tell your father we banged?”

Carl froze in dread. _Oh god_. This wasn’t happening.  
  
Appearing complacent, Negan continues. “ _Curious_ – he was just out there asking me what we did on our last **play date** , and I think he’s a _liii–ittle_ worried about you.” And then Negan bends down to pick up one of the darts on the floor, and throws it at the board. It doesn’t hit the middle target, but it’s pretty close. The man might as well have thrown one at Carl’s heart though – because it already _hurts_ – so why not put him further out of his misery?  
  
“I’m a little let down –" Negan says, and Carl's pretty sure he doesn't like what's coming. "That you didn’t tell him how breathless you were underneath me – or the way you fired emission.”  
  
In a fit of pique, Carl pushed Negan; hard enough for the man to stumble back one step, and the leader of the Saviors’ expression isn’t angry, or upset. It looks absolutely roused, and unfazed. Like he just received the reaction he wanted. “You _really_ didn’t tell him?” He questioned. “ **Wow** , that is the _second_ best thing you could have ever given me.”  
  
“You have no idea, kid.” Negan says in rapturous excitement. “I should use this to my advantage – then again, should I tell him? Oh man, I want to tell him.”  
  
Damning the consequences, in the blink of an eye, Carl assails on Negan with closed fists, but the man had seized his hands and turned him around, putting him in a lock. They stayed like that for a few minutes, _struggling_.  
  
When Carl lashes out for Negan to let go, he does with a shove, and backs up in order to grab Lucille left against the wall. “Look at _you_.” The man says, like Carl was just someone he found vaguely amusing.“You just have a knack for getting yourself in trouble, don’t you?” The man absently rubs at his chin, and eyes the youth up and down. “Now, as your most _solicitous_ guest, I have no choice but to take part of this divertissement, don’t I?”  
  
And then Negan is rolling his shoulders, and Carl swallows “I don’t want to be rude, so if you really want to _dance_ , then alright, lets play.” The man says, and he’s making promises not to swing his bat. At first Carl looks apprehensive, but then he holds out his fists, and goes headlong. Negan trips him with the end of Lucille, and Carl’s hands and knees are _blazing_ in pain when he lands on them.  
  
“ **Get up**.”  
  
Carl does, and storms at the man again, this time, he pulls out his knife, and slashes Negan right across the forearm. The man drops Lucille, and manages to push Carl away, until the youth hits the wall. While Negan is cursing up a storm, Carl says nothing – advances on Negan again, but with one clean swipe, Negan open-handedly smacks the young Grimes right across the face, enough to send him backwards onto the floor with a loud _THUMP_.  
  
When Carl’s hand met the ground, the knife skittered out of his palm and across the wood planks.  
  
Negan didn’t hesitate to pick it up, and placed it in his pocket before retrieving Lucille. Approaching Carl where he’s laying on the floor, Negan raises the bat, and Carl’s eye widened in terror – he lifts an arm to shield himself.  
  
At the top of his lungs, Negan _roars_ , and the youngest Grimes gives out a shriek for the man to _wait_ , but the bat comes sailing down.  
  
_**BAM**_.  
  
After that, the only sound in the room is Carl’s rapid breathing, because he can’t catch his breath. He’s shaking, and hasn’t uncovered his face; he _can’t_ , because he’s too afraid.  
  
There’s a hole in the floor right next to him, and the wood is splintered, and pointing in all different directions.  
  
The younger Grimes was riding an enormous stampede of emotions, and horror that didn’t know where to go. He couldn’t hear anything – could only make out his own heartbeat pounding somewhere in his ears.  
  
Speckles of color flicker and cavort in his vision, and his head was spinning.  
  
Negan was there, knelt down in front of him, snapping his fingers. “Earth to badass! You have to _breathe_ , take a deep breath kid – yeah, that’s it.” When reality crashes down on him, Carl’s arms limply lower to the floor.  
  
It’s disgusting how Negan’s whole aura is completely unflappable. The smile on his face should have been a crime. “Now, I’m going to say this nice, and _slow_.” He says, as he rises to his feet. The way he's looking at Carl makes him feel small, and feeble.   
  
“What you did, was a **BIG** _No–No_.” Negan states. “Do I **need** to remind you that your position with me is fragile? I like you, and I don’t really **want** to kill you, but I will if you make me. This death wish of yours; let’s go down the list – pulling a Tony Montana big balls and firing at my men, _threatening_ me, _attacking_ me, trying to **kill** me –“  
  
“Do you really expect no consequences every time? It’s all going to stop _right_ here. _Right_ now. In **this** room.” Negan points Lucille at Carl, who in turn closes his eye. “Do we have an understanding?”  
  
“ **Negan**!” Rick’s voice is a sudden boom, that rattles Carl’s atman, and the worried father is at the youth’s side, soundlessly begging for answers, while frantically exchanging glances from his son to the leader of the Saviors; trying to grasp the situation.  
  
“There he is! Father of the year! _Rick_!” Negan shouts dramatically. “Your boy Rick, I have to tell you – shows a severe lack of discipline. This young man just took a piece out of me, and I’m sure you both will be comparing the size of your dicks over that later – but first things first.”  
  
Negan gives Rick a few minutes to help Carl stand so he can eye them better, and the youths breathing is still raged, and the world felt like it was teetering, but if he could help it – he’d simulate as much bravado as he could muster, if not for himself, then for his father.  
  
“My first proviso – “Negan starts, “Is that if you _don’t_ want me to tell him–“ The man gestures to Rick while eyeing Carl, and the youth knows exactly what the man is referring to. “Is that you have to come back with me to the Sanctuary. After our whole ordeal just now, I think you need to be **punished**. I have a few things in mind I think you’ll just _love_.”  
  
“ _Wait_ – wait, don’t take him, I’ll take his place.” Rick says urgently, and Carl shuddered in alarm, and tries to intervene, because his father has no idea what he’s asking for.  
  
And then Negan places the end of his bat against Carl’s chest to silence him. “Screw you kid, the grownups are talking, so you're just going to have to wait your goddamned turn – ”  
  
“No, screw you. Forget what he says, I’ll come with you.” Carl can’t let this happen, no one else should suffer for his blunders. Especially not his father. _God_ , when was he going to learn? “I’m the one you want, right? Ignore him.”  
  
Rick shook his head. “Carl, just let me work this out – “ His voice rasped, and the smile on Negan’s face was exultant, as he then placed Lucille against Rick’s abdomen.  
  
“ _Goddamn_ , do I feel popular today. Can’t please everyone, **_no sir_**.” Negan says. “Look Rick, if you don’t want me to take Carl back to the Sanctuary, that’s fine. _**BUT**_ , if you’re so inclined to ruin my plans, you’re going to have to give me something in exchange.”  
  
Rick looks unsure at first, and after about a minute of processing that, he questions Negan with a restless tone. “What do you want?”  
  
“You have to take a good ol’ fashioned drubbing.” Negan says, and Carl feels completely shattered, and he knows his father – he _accepts_ , because Rick would take all that and more for his family. At this point Carl isn't sure whether that would be considered a weakness, or a strength. Either way, he was sure Negan knew what Rick's answer was going to be just by looking at his expression.   
  
“ _Good_. I mean, as long as _you’re_ cooperative, and _Carl’s_ cooperative.” Negan indicates, ”I think you’ll see how everything will be just peachy keen in the end.” He tells them, and then hisses in pain – Negan removes his leather jacket, and looks at his wound. The slice is pretty deep, and blood covers the area, and every second or so, a drip falls to the floor.  
  
“ _Oh man_ , you’re **both** going to be sorry for this one.” Negan assured, “You’re lucky you’re not deader than a frog with a brick up its ass, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Carl like no joke.


	3. Keepsake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting’ down and serious here – but with more smut. And I wrote this chapter while listening to the song “keepsake” by State Radio, so that’s where the chapter gets its name. It's basically my theme song.

Three Saviors’ were beating Rick into the ground. Mud and dirt are clinging to his clothes, and his body aches from the force of every blow. The former sheriff couldn’t even fight back, those were the rules, and everyone watched with impotent anger, unable to aid their leader.

“Your cruelty knows no bounds.” Father Gabriel says, and he eyes Negan in hope that he'll see a sign of mercy.The man in power is sipping at a glass of whiskey that he’d pulled out of Rick’s scavenge pile, and he appears completely buoyant with Lucille resting with ease against his shoulder.

“My cruelty?” Negan asks, and then lets out a boisterous laughs, “I’m not the one beating Rick like a rented mule, but if it makes you feel any better. Being the _Father_ figure to your one and only sky master – **forgive** me father, for I have _sinned_.”

Carl was overwrought with self-condemnation; the pain in his chest is a constant flicker that makes him want to scream – to scream at such an intensity that there’d be no definition strong enough to express it. The fact he couldn't bring himself to do so felt like an injustice.“You have to make them _stop_ , he’s had enough.” Carl breathed; he just couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“You are your dad really impress the hell out of me, kid. He really knows how to take a pounding. To some degree, you do too though, don't you?” Negan says, and his insinuation only appalls the one in question.“Yeah, this is the kind of shit that gets my motor running, but this **doesn’t** end until I say it does.”

“Rick made me a trade, and until I’m satiated, you’re just going to have to deal with it. Think on the brighter side. You’re just lucky I told them not to break his limbs.” The man adds with a grin, and he leans in to Carl. “Push my buttons though, I _might_  just have a change of heart.”

“I’m thinking you don’t have a _heart_.” Carl scowls furiously, and turns his attention back to the scene. When Rick grabs his sides after being kicked, he curls in on himself. It only makes him look weak, and pathetic. Then Negan’s chest rose and fell on a sigh, and after about a minute he dismisses his men. “Alright. Samurai, he’s free to take to your lovely clinic – better get all those scrapes wrapped up. Wouldn't want them to get infected.” Negan says, as he watches Michonne race to Rick’s side.“ _OH_ , and Rick! If you ever get an itch up your ass, and you're looking to make another **thoughtless** trade. I’ve got an army of people who’d be more than _willing_ to line up, and take a swing.”

If the insult weren’t so petty or adolescent, Carl would call the man a _devil_. In any case, he was pretty damn sure that Negan was well aware what he was – and didn’t care. 

As Rick is escorted away, Negan starts whistling, and the young Grime’s feels sick with an intense, rich acidic anger that burns like a conflagration spreading rapidly inside his heart. It’s like the man is trying to piss him off on purpose, but there’s nothing he can do about it. It's _sick_. “You people are far too series. I think we should loosen the tension.” Negan suggests, and unsure of what that meant, Carl tries to ignore his ever clawing anxiety. “Where’s that sister of yours?”

Carl felt a rush of dread, what could Negan want with Judith? “Don’t touch her.” The youth warned, and takes one step forward toward Negan, and the man smiles in return, like the younger Grimes wasn't threatening at all.

“You almost have me shaking in my boots _badass_ , but you’re getting too brave for your own good, and I can't allow that. Who do you think you’re dealing with? Do you _need_ me to put you in your place again, like I did upstairs?” Negan returns, ”Lucille could have bashed your skull in with one hit – and I didn't let that happen, _for you_. So keep something in mind, just because you **_think_** you’ve got balls of steel after taking a slice out of me, doesn’t make you the _big bad wolf_.”

When the youth looks away, the man titters, and playfully taps him with the tip of his boot. “Besides, you really think I’d hurt an innocent angel like her? I’m offended actually, extend at least a little trust.” Negan says, “Even I’m not _that_ cold.”

Carl huffs, and crosses his arms over his chest. “That remains to be _seen_.” He replies, although it’s barely audible and he wonders if the man even heard him. If he did, he clearly didn't have a single care in the world about it. “Alright, I don’t know about you, but I need a refill.” Without another word, Negan places a hand in the middle of Carl’s back, and shepherds him away into his house.

They saunter into the kitchen, right in front of the whiskey bottle sitting on the island counter. The glass Negan sets down _CLINKS_  when it hits the granite, and he leans Lucille carefully against one of the lower cabinets. Before the younger Grimes can ask what they’re doing, Negan moves behind him – spooning him; two long arms locked him in place where he stood. It makes Carl feel trapped and unsure how to move. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, and it’s hard to focus when every breath out of Negan is a warm gust against his ear, making his whole body acute with sensation. This was ridiculous.“You’re going to thank me for it later.” The leader of the Saviors says, and then the man places his hand over Carl’s, steering the youth in picking up the bottle of whiskey, and pouring the contents into the empty glass.

Suddenly the younger Grimes lips feel dry, and the muscle in his mouth traces over them. “I don’t want any.” Negan doesn’t respond, just ignores him like he isn’t even there.That only irritates Carl, because it's not like Negan doesn't enjoy running his lip. At this point the glass is practically overflowing, and the youth finds it unreasonably nettlesome. Who’s going to clean up the mess when it spills?

Once the bottle is placed carefully back down, the Carl blinks, and feels weak when one of the man’s hands smooth greedily up his neck, and forces his head to lean back into Negan’s left shoulder. Carl can’t see Negan this way, and he wishes he could. It gives him another reason to damn himself for missing an eye, but after a few minutes, he can feel the rim of a cup touch his lips. The glass is tipped; letting the Whiskey slide into his mouth.

The drink is strong – enough that the younger Grimes almost coughs and sputters it out when he feels it touch the back of his throat. It’s cold too, and some of the liquid runs down his lower lip, and over his chin. Carl wants to unconsciously wipe it all away, but he can’t like this. And aside from the thick taste of alcohol, Carl can’t really describe the flavor, only that it’s not something he’d ever choose to drink again if he didn’t have to.

The liquor is a warm heat in his belly, and he was glad when the glass was moved away. With what limited space Carl has, he still turns to face the man in charge. Negan looks contemplative, and he down’s the rest of the whiskey with one smooth motion before abandoning the glass on the counter. It’s strange, the man is looking at the younger Grimes almost like he's food, and the hesitation resting in his aura is tantalizingly questionable, but then Negan leans in, and licks a searing hot line from the youth’s lower mandible, all the way up to his gob, and presses their lips together.

That somehow kicks Carl’s ire down an impressive notch – because there are other emotions he doesn’t understand that are scintillating in its place. All his mind can register is that he _doesn’t_ want to like this. _No_ , he’s **begging** himself not to like this.

Negan was an enigma.

There’s no rhyme or reason for him to be doing this, and Carl wanted to ask why, but stayed perfectly still as his heart drummed frantically in his chest. With every fiber of his being he hoped no one he loved would walk in on them like this. That would be pretty damn awful. When the youth’s hands rose up,  he brushed them over Negan’s abdomen, and then _pushed_. “Stop doing that!” He yelled, and Negan slowly grins, appearing completely unruffled.

“Last time you and I were together.” Negan says, “I stole your virginity. Watched you moan until you were a slave to raw, insatiable, carnal desire. And you’re afraid of a little kissing?

Carl didn’t want to hear anymore of this. _Couldn’t_. It would kill him if he did. The compunction was too big; the wrongness of this whole situation was bigger than himself. His heart couldn’t handle it. Swiftly he placed both hands over his ears as if that would block Negan out. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, the younger Grimes looks down at their feet like the most interesting thing in all the world.

Negan’s boots are pretty scuffed up, but there’s barely any dirt, and he faintly wonders if he cleans them himself, or if one of his soldiers do it for him. When a finger touches the underside of his chin, Carl flinches, and doesn’t like that Negan is forcing him to lift his head up. He doesn’t want those brown eyes scoring him out. “Why did it have to be me?” Carl asked, and his eye is sheen with unshed tears.

“You want to know why?” Negan paused then, and let a stretch of silence roll out between them. It's like he was trying to figure out a worthy answer, but the answer isn't one Carl likes. “If the meat looks good, pussy isn’t the only thing worth banging, and there you were. A _lamb_ ready for the taking. I wanted to show you everything you were missing. You're a young man, you're supposed to mess around and have _fun_."

"You want to keep refusing me though, go ahead, but it doesn’t make me want you any less, kid.” Negan explains, “What you did earlier, you have **_NO_** idea how _uncool_ that was. You should be happy I’ve considered fucking your brains out over bashing in your skull.”

As the bog of emptiness consumed him, he leaned back against the counter in surrender.“Yeah. Well maybe I’d prefer that at this point.” Carl said impassively, and he briefly recalls Negan saying something about it being productive to break him, and he swallows, because he doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that at a time like this. And then there’s a hand over him, the man is  _cupping_ him through his pants, and his mouth opens on a silent gasp.

Negan is rubbing him in small circular motions, and the younger Grimes groans as his body betrays him. Nothing could be more frustrating than this, or so he thought, because there’s a small part of Carl that’s disappointed when the man’s hand moves away. _Lord_ , he’s so **hard** now, and his pants are _too_ tight – but then something _bold_  happens, Negan grabs his hand, and moves it until it’s resting against Negan’s junk.

What are words? The youth doesn’t know how to react, and he doesn’t know what to say. The man instructs Carl to get on his knees, and he does, timidly. The heat of embarrassment is like a thick haze, making the his mind fuzzy. Everything feels unreal, like he’s locked in a dream. That or a horrible nightmare.

“Go on. I know you want to.” Negan says, “Word of warning though. If you _bite_ me, I’m going to cut every appendage off of you, starting with your shortest.” And nodding slowly, clumsy hands work on the button of Negan’s jeans. The zipper almost snagged on the way down, but he managed even though his tears are slightly clouding his vision. With a deep breath, he shimmies Negan’s pants and briefs down just enough to pull the man’s length out.

Cheeks burning, the word ' _awkwardness'_ doesn’t even begin to cover this. Something like panic twined up the side of him, but saliva is building up in his mouth, and he swallows it. And Carl is almost intimidated by Negan’s size, because last time he didn’t really get to see what the man looked like, but this time he can, and he can’t think whether Negan’s just in proportion for his body, or if he’s just really as big as he looks.

Then the younger Grimes makes a choked sound, because he doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want the contrition. “I can’t.” Carl says, and shakes his head. That earns him a hand in his hair, and it _pulls_. “It’s like a negotiation isn’t it?” Negan asked, unable to hold back his mirth; it was clear that he was enjoying every part of this. “You hate me so much, but you want this at the same time. There's nobody here but us, just take what you want. It's okay to be greedy. I'm allowing it.”

Sniveling, the youth doesn’t exactly know where to start, so he just wraps a hand around Negan, and slowly began stroking him. Carl focuses on the man’s breathing, although it’s easier thought than done. Afraid of how the man tastes, the younger Grimes hesitantly touched the tip of his tongue to the man’s pre-cumed slit. It was salty, and sweet, and it shockingly enough – wasn’t bad. But he isn’t sure how to do this, considering Carl had never done this before, and he honestly can’t _believe_ it’s happening. So he slicks Negan’s length with his tongue, and kisses the head of him. When the youth finally wraps his mouth around Negan’s cock, he swallows him down.

Negan curses, and the young Grimes flinches at the sound, unsure if he’d done something wrong, but then Negan is praising him. There’s no need to rush this, so he’s sucking slowly, and Carl’s dick reminds him that his pants are just too restricting. He makes a faint pained sound, and the man above him laughs. 

“You’re hurting, aren’t’ you? Come here.” Negan enjoins, and Carl does, he pulled off on an exaggerated suck, and stood up. There’s a hand smoothing up under his shirt, pinching at his nipples, and the youth closed his eye – the jolt of sensitivity somehow rushes to his dick, and its so indescribably weird. Although he doesn't complain when the man continues to do it. 

And then the next thing he knows, the younger Grimes is pushed away from the kitchen, and when those firm hands grab him, the youth was thrown onto the table; his back slamming hard against the solid wood surface. When whimpering Negan’s name as a plea to stop doesn't work, Carl shivers seeing that its only added hunger to the man’s ever growing libido. So he tips his head back, staring at the high ceiling.

The distraction only works for so long, because then Negan starts unbuttoning Carl’s pants – and then those fingertips are wrapping around his cock, and Carl felt flush, vulnerable and exposed. What made matters worse, was this was his _home_. “If you’re going to do this…” Carl starts, but then he struggles through each word when the man in control starts to stroke him. “Can we take this somewhere private?”

“Not for all the tea in China.” Negan replies, and Carl wants to glare at him, because he _deserves_ that much – but it's out the window on a really good upstroke, he just doesn’t care anymore. Instead, he props himself up on his elbows, and he’s fighting to keep the noises back, but it's so hard. It shouldn't be, but it is. 

Negan offers him a naughty grin, and instructs the youth to wrap his legs around him. “Goddamn, kid.” The Savior's leader says, and his tone is savage with lust. “If you were with me at the Sanctuary, we could do this all the time.” Of course the younger Grimes doesn’t even want to think about that, and he doesn’t need to. Not when Negan is asking him who he belongs to.

Carl looks away, and he finds some of the anger that burned out, bubbling back inside him, because the _indignity_. There’s no way he’s going to lower himself to say what Negan wants, but then the man’s hand slows, and he almost wants to sob over how much he _doesn’t_ ’ want this to stop. With a sigh, he gives in, and it comes out robotically. “ ** _Negan_**.” And Carl changes his mind, wishes he could drink some more of that whiskey, because he can’t handle how good this feels. There’s a bottle of lotion on the hutch nearby, and Negan reaches for it. _God_ this was really happening again wasn’t it?

Unwrapping his legs from Negan's waist, he let's Negan maneuver them, so that Carl’s feet are back on the floor but he’s bending over the table. The cap of the lotion is popped off, and the youth can hear Negan squirt some out into his hands. And of course, _damn it all_ , he can’t see anything, but when he feels the man’s fingers resting against his entrance, he whimpers when two fingers are sliding inside him this time.

The painful stretch was expected, although it’s almost like he’d forgotten what it felt like. Would he ever get use to this? When Negan finds his prostrate, those digits rock roughly back and forth until they’re hitting his target _every_ **single** _time_.

Carl’s head drops to the table, he’s a crying mess, and he seriously thinks he’s going to die. “As much as I’d love to do this all day, I can’t hold it anymore. Come to papa.” Negan says impatiently, and slides his fingers out. The man presses his cock up against Carls hole, and the slide in is slow, before he starts to rock back and forth with ease. Every move is inconsistent, and it takes him a minute to get the right angle to hit the youth’s prostate.

Negan is grinning in exultation, and he exhales on a breath he'd been holding. “Just keep singing for daddy.” Negan says, in regards to every moan that’s crawling out of Carl’s mouth, and he grabs the younger Grimes by the hips to keep him steady, as he starts to roughly pound into him. It’s intense, so much that the table is rocking, and it sounds like one of the legs is scuffing the floor.

In a matter of seconds, Carl comes with stars in his eyes. Cum is all over the floor, and while apart of him thinks that's completely gross, every thrust is a distraction, because i makes him feel so over sensitive. “Would it be too much if I asked you to beg for more?” Negan asked, and that was like a pin prick in Carl’s pride, because it was already hanging on by a single thread – probably the only one he had left. The _audacity_ to even ask was out the window, and the man appeared to pick up on that. “It was worth a try.”

Then Negan’s hips slam hard against his ass, and he’s resting them there as he releases his seed. Carl could feel it, the warmth inside him, and his mouth opened up on a shaken breath when the man collapses on top of him. The mire of emotions the younger Grimes is dealing with are too much, and the tears won’t stop coming, although he won’t make a peep. He needs a minute to collect himself, especially when Negan is pulling himself up, and sliding out of him.

It leaves Carl feeling empty, and he steadily moves himself off the table so he can pull his briefs and pants back up. When he’s finished, he slowly turns to face Negan who starts kissing him eagerly; and Carl’s arms instinctively smooth up the man's back, resting gently over his shoulder blades. They kiss until Carl’s lips are swollen, and their tongues are too tired and languid to keep going.

And a noise startles them out of the moment. His worst fear becoming a _horrible_ twisted reality. There’s an injured Rick standing in the doorway to the kitchen, with venom in his eyes. “You get your hands _off_ him.” He says, and his voice sounds raspy, like he hasn’t used it in months. There’s a wheeze there too, and It’s familiar – like way back when Carl thought his father had turned. While he _hurt_ for his father’s condition; humiliation washes over Carl in waves, and he can’t think of anything to say.

The youth pushes himself away from Negan, who in turn is clapping, and sniggering in amusement. “Oh _god_ , we hadn’t planned on you finding out just yet.” Negan says, as if he'd ruined a surprise. “Now, does it make is worse that it’s me, or that it just happened in general?”

“That is my son. That is my son –” Rick repeats, like he’s stuck in a mantra, he just clearly couldn’t handle this situation, and that only made Carl feel worse. “Yeah.” Negan replies, “And I _fucked_ him.” The expression on Rick’s face broke, like he hadn’t even _known_ **that** part – he’d just missed it. “ _Why_? How could you? Tell me why? We’ve done what you’ve asked, we’ve followed the rules, so why?”

There was a Savior soldier behind Rick, and he grabbed the former sheriff, holding him back just in case he decided to charge at their leader. Placid, Negan picks up his leather jacket off one of the kitchen chairs where’d they’d bandaged his wound earlier. As he puts it on, he reached for the gloves in the pocket, and slowly puts them on next. It's like he's taking his time with this in the worst way possible. “Why Rick? It just happened.” He says finally, breaking the wall of silence, and Carl closes his eye, and turns away, because he doesn’t know what to do.

As Rick frees himself from the Saviors grip, he shakes his head.“Just go, just get your shit, and go.” He urges, and Negan ambles his way over to the kitchen island, and grabs Lucille where she leaned. The man whistles like he doesn’t have a care in the world, as he rests her against his shoulder. And he approaches Carl, whose back is still facing him. “Why don’t you come with me?” Negan asks, and Rick’s eyes widen in horror.

When the youth doesn’t say anything, the man slowly nods in understanding. “You’re serious?” Negan questions. “Do you even know what I’m offering you? You’ve seen what our people can do; you’ve been to the compound. We’re unstoppable. You’d be well protected; you’d be well fed. You would have your own room, and you’d be given a decent job.“ Slowly Carl turns back, studying Negan’s expression, and shakes his head. The man narrows his eyes, and sighs. “ _Let’s move out_!” He calls, and without a word, he takes his exit.

It’s quiet in the room, like Negan's presence was never even there. The two just stand there unmoving, and Carl feels the weight of his betrayal like an open wound. Internally he swore it was worse than getting shot. “Where’s Michonne?” Carl asked, and he hates the way his voice cracks. Rick huffed out a breath of laughter, and ran a shaken hand through his disheveled hair. There were bruises on his face, and he had a busted lip. “With Judith.” He replies, “I asked her to go check on her before we got in the house.”

Something pops in Carl’s chest, and he makes a sound of anguish. “I’m _sorry_.” He says, sniveling, and wipes at fresh salt tears. Rick quickly stumbles forward, and pulls Carl forward into a tight hug, and the youth went limp in his embrace. “You were coerced, you hear me? Carl. You _didn’t_ –“ And Rick is squeezing him tighter, “I’m going to kill Negan for this, and _all_ that he’s **done**. I’m going to – ”

“This is what you were keeping from me?” Rick said, it's like there are a million things he wants to say, but he can't say everything at once. And he looked over to see Michonne walk in the room, holding Judith. “Is this what you wouldn’t tell me before?”

“I feel so guilty, I didn’t know what to do – I lied, I couldn’t say it.” Carl said, completely wrecked, and he just felt so deadbeat. If it was possible to just lie down, and sleep for the rest of his life, he wanted to so _badly_. The former sheriff sighed with a heavy heart, and refused to loosen his hold. “It wasn’t your fault. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty, Carl. I’m just sorry I couldn’t stop it.” He said, “You _survived_ though–”

“And you’re _going_ to survive. Just don’t let this eat you, because we all need you. I need you. I know that’s selfish of me to say that, I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going though, but I’ll be here to listen. You don't have to hide this anymore.“ Rick said, “I just hope you can use all that you’re feeling, and use it to fuel your fight.”

“I can’t say I’m one hundred percent sure what just transpired here, but I agree nonetheless.” A voice said from the dark corner of the room. Jesus stood there, arms crossed, and looking as sneaky as ever. “Whatever has befallen upon you, use it as a _tool_.”

Carl quickly steps out of Rick’s embrace, and wipes his face, wanting to be as composed as possible even though he _hurt_ – his father's support hurt too, but he knew there was truth in what he was saying, and he knew there was no ill intention – because this wasn't the time to fall apart. Not when they had a battle on the way, he had to be strong. And if Jesus was here, that meant this was important. It was awful – but he'd have to put "healing" on the backburner, and deal with it later. 

“Why are you here? Is Maggie okay? Is something wrong? Or is everything set?” Each question is hurried out of his mouth, and the man stepped forward. A small smile spread across his features, and he pulled out one of the dining chairs, and took a seat.

“Maggie is fine, I assure you.” The man said, "And there's nothing wrong." And Jesus couldn’t help but smile further. “We have people on board with us. We just need to get together, and draw out a plan. We're _ready_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun. In the saddest of ways. This chapter gave me a bit of trouble actually. To be honest, I was a little out of sorts this week – an abusive family member I haven’t seen/spoken to in eight years reached out to me, and it’s just been awful basically LOL 
> 
> However, I’ve been staying positive where I can! And writing has been a good distraction – so I’m thankful to this chapter in some ways for helping me through my personal pain. That being said, I think I’ll leave the rest [ Negan’s fate ] up for interpretation! So, this is kind of the end of the line. SORRY. If I ever do another, it'll be an epilogue. I make no promises. 
> 
> I just want to say, that I’m not the most talented writer in the world, but it meant a lot to me that so many of you enjoyed reading! You’ve been great – thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> This was the result after drinking a six pack of Coney Island Orange Cream Ale.


End file.
